Eight Harvard Poets/Of Too Much Song

OF TOO MUCH SONG

SEDGES, have you sung too much,
Sedges gray along the shore?
Can this autumn tempest touch
      Answering chords in you no more?
Is the summer all forgot? —
      Now the ice is dark and strong
That has bound you to the spot —
      Did you die of too much song?

Something in me is a harp
      Played by every wanton breeze.
Moaning soft and piping sharp
      Are its wondrous melodies.
Is the playing over-fast
      Though the answer now is strong?
Like the sedges at the last
      Will it die of too much song?